A Veritable Lolita
by GoldenCherries
Summary: The brotherhood had a new hand amongst them, and she was a brat. Written after reading Vladimir Naobokov's novel Lolita. John as main protagonist. Just plain oneshot drabble. Please R&R, full and better summary inside :


This is just some drabble I cooked up after reading Vladimir Nabokov's Lolita. I wrote it ages ago but I thought I'd post it and see what others thought. Some dialogue and actions are used from the novel and also from the 1992 film starring Jeremy Irons and the excellent Dominique Swain. Please R&R and enjoy 

_**A Veritable Lolita**_

The brotherhood had a new hand amongst them, and she was a brat.

Her name was Lolita- highly fitting, for her mutant ability was to secrete pheromones at will, thus capable of seducing any man or woman of her choice. She wasn't that pretty but held an amount of inherent sexuality that made it impossible for anyone to keep away. She had corkscrew, curly blonde hair that framed her rather pointed face, large grey eyes that stared at you insolently if you dared look.

She was seventeen and wore loose fitting, boyish clothes. She was extremely lazy and loved to lounge around all day around the lair and do nothing; except perhaps toy with the better looking male mutants that were helpless against her charms. In this way she gained many little things that she craved from the world above- Belgian chocolates, the newest mobile phone. A lot of the Brotherhood didn't like her, except John, but they put up with her because they knew she was Magneto's favourite.

Anyone could tell she was unhappy with the life she was leading. She lolled about all day, sighing continually and flopping around with magazines and comics. She liked to keep her long, slender legs bare, and she would often just wear a big man's shirt that came down her thighs. She was shameless in her mannerisms and held no apparent degree of modesty at all. She would rest her legs up on a desk and sit comfortably on a rotating desk chair, where she would quietly devour the latest _Enquirer _or _Movie Story_, chuckling at anything that amused her, moving her lips to shape the words she read, one hand holding the epistle, the other playing with one of her braids.

John would often watch her like this for hours, unbeknownst to her or anyone. He was obsessed with her. He knew Magneto had her come up to his chamber for a few hours or so some nights, and he hated it. He saw the feeling of abject hopelessness in her eyes as she emerged from her master's bedroom and his insides squirmed. It wasn't fair. Why should this delicate feminine tissue, this being of such pale beauty, be ravaged by such an old brute? One who had Mystique under his perverted power as well…

He would try and speak to her, one time suggesting that "we should go up sometime and check out this new flick, it looks kinda cool." "Whaddaya mean 'we', Paleface?' she'd retort, scrunched up face and eyes full of disdain. She would roll her eyes with boredom and laugh sarcastically at anything he tried to talk to her about. Most of the time she ignored him. She ignored everyone. But everyone heard her sobs at night, every night, before she went to sleep.

One day she came to John's chamber, when he was lying down listening to music. "Hi," she said, and smirked as he shot upright, ripping the headphones out of his ears as he did so.

"I've just come to tell you that I'm running away tomorrow," she said casually, leaning against the door post. Her bare feet twisted and pointed together, in the strange duck-like manner that they had.

John sighed inwardly- so another cruel game, then, that she had come to tease him with. "I can tell you don't believe me- I didn't expect you too," she created little circles on the floor with her big, pink and white toe. "You won't find me here tomorrow. I'm awful sorry though. You did try to be nice, I guess." Fingers splayed across glossy nether land of her bare legs, (wearing man's shirt again) John's breaths getting shallower. He nodded at her words- were they words? He wondered. Ok, she was going away, she said. But he looked at the apple rosiness of her mouth and the damp cloudiness of her eyes, and that was all that mattered, that she was in front of him, here, now, to adore.

She kissed him before she left his room- mere fun on her part, hopeless passion on his, and left his mouth numb and his loins aflame, and howling inwardly with almost painful desire for more. Laughing softly while she closed the door behind her, she didn't even say goodbye.

She _was_ gone the next day after all, and so were all her things. It was the work of the X-Men, John thought, in a wave of fury, passion, anger and agony so intense that it almost knocked him over. Magneto was fuming, too, and John hoped that he still lusted over that miserable teenager, so that he would make it a point to get her back.

Going up a week after that on a mission for the Brotherhood, he dared giving his team-mates the slip and walked past the mansion, his old home, which was fortunately in the vicinity. As tender Luck would have had it he did see her, sprawled out on a deckchair on the lawn wearing a light damp summer dress; the Professor obviously would not condone her half-naked habits. She was wearing dark sunglasses and was laughing at something that Piotr was telling her, his face creased in amusement. Yet he was not under her spell, no glazed look in his eyes- she was obviously being trained on how to control her fantastic power.

Ah! Agony, excruciating, throbbing- his heart, that is. He duly returned to his underground home.

For what could kids like him do, after all? Duty came before love, and lust too.


End file.
